by Spoor,Ryk E
Chapter 34
Ariane? Try not to react.
She had given a start and dropped the shirt she had been putting on when the silent voice spoke inside her head, but then sat back down on her bed and grabbed her foot as though massaging out a sudden cramp. What is it, Marc? she thought, cutting out her internal transmitter but otherwise concentrating as though she were trying to transmit the words.
Marc’s instant response showed he heard her. Sorry about the surprise, but there’s things I want to tell you that I’d rather not have Vindatri know about.
She lowered her foot and continued getting dressed. Are you sure he can’t pick this up?
Sure? No way to be one hundred percent sure, but even back in my home universe, listening in on a two-way telepathic link was hard. Usually you had to know it was going on. Plus I’m shielding my mind, and I’m trying to keep yours shielded too. So …I’m pretty sure he can’t pick this up.
Okay, then. What’s up?
A rush of images and sensations followed; it took a lot of control to keep from getting dizzy, but the real challenge was keeping her face from showing shock and bewilderment. What …the …HELL …is that?
Damned if I know, Ariane. Looked like the universe’s biggest waxworks display, and I’ll be totally jiggered if I can figure out what that half-finished human shape was about.
Were there any duplicates in that room? Two Molothos, anything?
Mark’s mindvoice was silent for a few moments. I …don’t think so. I can’t swear to it—there were thousands and thousands of the things there, and we were running through the place fast, so my headware didn’t record all of them, but I sure can’t remember seeing any duplicates. You thinking what I am?
Collection of all the species in the Arena, right? Or maybe all the ones Vindatri’s ever encountered personally?
Maybe. Hard to say. We don’t have a clue as to how old he is, or what he is, for that matter. Question is why he’d bother locking the place up. Sure, it’s impressive, but what’s your take on why it’d be worth hiding?
She could tell that Marc had an idea, but he wasn’t saying it yet. He wanted her opinion without any of his input prejudicing it. Only two things I can think of. First, that humanoid figure stands out. It means something, and it’s different than all the others the way it’s designed. Second, you said you thought that figure might be the very first one in the whole collection; why?
Another pause, as she finished tightening her boots and checking the seals on her clothing. It was just a feeling, but from a couple of things I noticed. First, the lines were all perfect, spaced evenly in both directions, except that the one nearest the door—the first one—wasn’t complete. It was about three-quarters of the way from completion, so it was like that was where the last entry had been put in order. Second, we know that the Blessed to Serve were pretty recent in their arrival in the Arena, while from some of the other things we’ve heard the Rodeskri have been around a lot longer, and we know the Molothos had to be damn early in the order of things or a whole bunch of other Factions would’ve wiped them out right away. So the order of the species seemed to fit the order of their entry.
She nodded. Which, if we follow that logic, makes that humanoid figure …?
Something older than the Molothos. The oldest thing on his list. But why is it indistinct? None of the others were like that; they’re all so real I’m not sure they aren’t real, which also gives me the willies. A mental sigh. What about you? Anything you want to tell me?
Well, Wu will tell you about my being released. Telling Vindatri how I was Awakened was enough to pay him, or so he said. But one thing he doesn’t know—I think—is that I’m pretty sure I can answer your question about what he is.
She opened the door and turned down the corridor towards the dining room Vindatri had provided; there was a flash of surprise from DuQuesne. You’re not having me on there? No, you aren’t; can’t lie in telepathic contact, unlike with a radio comm. Okay, don’t leave me hanging, what is Vindatri?
Remember the conversation I told you about that I had with Amas-Garao, a little before I got kidnapped? He talked about the obligations of the power his people wield …and how they keep it under control. Namely, they’ve got strict rules about how long you get to keep the power, and you’re required to hang up your cloak and hand the power over to someone else. So my guess? Vindatri is a Shadeweaver who refused to give up his power when the time came, and managed to escape his fellows when they came to take it.
It was no surprise that DuQuesne instantly grasped the implications. Klono’s tungsten teeth, that’s bad. That means he’s the kind of guy who decided he had the right to keep power even when he’d sworn not to, he’s been extending his lifespan in direct contradiction to his oaths, he was probably willing to fight or even kill to keep power and managed to get away with it against the wishes of the other Shadeweavers, which meant that he was one Big Time Operator even then …and if the power keeps getting stronger as Shadeweavers get older, his real power now would make Amas-Garao look like a sideshow magician. I thought his little knee-jerk anger about our mistaking his rituals indicated that, but this makes it about ten times worse. How’d you figure this out?
Thought-conversations were a lot faster than verbal ones, so she was still barely ten meters down the corridor from her room. I admit it was something of a guess, but it was a combination of knowing from what Amas-Garao said that it must be possible for someone to basically change their mind, and something Vindatri said. He started quoting the beginning of the Ascendance ritual, but the rhythm and word separation didn’t sound anything like the way the Faith pronounced the words; it sounded a lot more like the Shadeweaver ritual fragment you let me hear from your headware.
Good thinking, and you’re probably right. A pause. Other important thing—during our little trip, Orphan slipped me a little gadget; it’s an encrypted transmitter and memory chip—with a message on it.
Suddenly she was hearing another voice, through DuQuesne’s memories: “Doctor DuQuesne, it is my strong feeling that we need a method to communicate that my friend Vindatri cannot monitor. While he has been my ally, I am sure you have noted his …capricious temperament, and the expedition on which I intend to give you this message is one that reveals something I find unsettling, to say the least.
“Now, you and your people have previously managed some most surprising innovations that I cannot fathom. If you could create a communications device that is more secure than this example transmitter, I think this would serve us very well. Contrive to respond whenever you find most convenient and secure.”
Wow. He’s as nervous as we are.
Explains the other reason he wanted us along. He’s afraid of Vindatri, and he’s got damn good reason from what I can see. But Vindatri’s also his ace in the hole against things like Shadeweavers. He wants to cover all bases, and I can’t blame him.
Can you make something like what he asks?
An inaudible chuckle. Ariane, now that I know what the Arena will let me get away with? I’ll bet I can make an ultra-wave communicator, or one operating on whatever the Arena will use to imitate fourth or fifth-order forces, maybe even sixth order, that Vindatri won’t be able to read unless he knows what’s going on. Real challenge will be building it under his nose, but I’ll figure out an angle, trust me.
As she approached the dining room, she could hear Marc in conversation with Wu Kung and Orphan. You’re managing to talk with them while we’re having this discussion?
There was a momentary bleak flash of awareness of being different, alien, manufactured, and she began an apology. Don’t apologize, Ariane. I have to deal with my own issues, and they’re sort of stupid issues. That difference can save our asses, just like whatever’s happened to you, and I shouldn’t get all angsty about it. But yeah, I am. I can compartmentalize my brain into at least two different parallel and completely functional trains of thought. Mentor taught me that, back when. Seems it works just f
ine here.
The name sparked a recollection. Marc …do you think …well, my grandfather and Doctor Bryson, your …designer, were the same person. Is it possible that Mentor was…
…my Mentor? So that was the thought you suddenly had after the revelation of the connection. A pause, as her regular yet molasses-slow footsteps brought her in sight of the dining-room entrance. Could be. He sure sounds the same, talks the same, but then if Bryson designed both they would. He’s never said anything about it to me, yet…
She saw a flash of memory: DuQuesne, mind filled with grief and fury, turning towards a doorway that might hide his enemy, taking a step—
“STOP, YOUTH!”
Yeah. The way he said that, the way it froze me in my tracks—the way it had to, or I’d have been dead, dead, dead—that sure sounded and felt like my Mentor. Still, it’s perfectly in character for any version of the old Arisian. I just don’t know, and we can’t ask him. Let’s talk later about whether it actually matters.
We will. I’ll think about it. But now I have to concentrate on regular talking, because I can’t split my brain in two.
An invisible grin. Yet.
She smiled as she entered the room. “Good evening, everyone!”
Wu Kung bounced up and took his place nearby. “I am sorry I wasn’t waiting at your—”
“I would have been annoyed if you were standing outside my door all that time, and you know it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I know, and that’s why I wasn’t. I still should have been.”
Ariane patted his arm. “I know, Wu. You’ll just have to deal with your unreasonable Captain as she is.”
“As do we all,” Orphan agreed, pausing in his draining liquid from some sort of red-brown fruit. “But I think there is little to fear in her walk from our quarters to this room.”
“There should be nothing to fear at all,” said Vindatri, stepping from a shadowed area across the room. “I, and the few other residents of Halintratha, pose you no threat, and I assure you there are no other threats within a hundred thousand kilometers of this place.”
“Nothing to fear except you,” Wu Kung said bluntly.
The half-seen eyes blinked. Then a low laugh emanated from under the hood. “Yes, I suppose, I could be a threat. But you would guard her from me, Wu Kung?”
The Hyperion Monkey King shrugged. “I would try. That is the job of a bodyguard, right?”
“Very true, and I should not laugh, though such an attempt—were I truly hostile—would be futile on your part. To more cheerful subjects, do you find the meal to your liking?”
“Top-notch,” DuQuesne said, giving a thumbs-up before taking another bite of steak. “Amas-Garao pulled this trick off when he was trying to recruit me, and you’re going a couple better, by doing it for all of us at once.”
Ariane saw that at her place was what appeared to be an assortment of classic Indian foods—palak paneer, tandoori chicken, a vindaloo hot enough that her nose tingled as she sat down, a plate of nan and other dishes—of exactly the type that were her favorites back home. “This sure looks good.” She reached out, took a piece of the flatbread, and scooped out some of the palak paneer. “Wow. That’s some of the best I’ve ever had.”
“I am glad. As you might guess, replicating tastes by themselves is not difficult, but actually replicating the food in all of its aspects is a challenge, especially when one has had no experience of it.” Vindatri took a seat at the far end of the table, and food materialized in front of him; it appeared to include a cut of some sort of meat, thinly sliced and fried or baked to have a crust, and several other dishes that might have been vegetables, starches, or even some type of bread with odd colors and shapes.
“You mentioned other residents,” DuQuesne said. “Haven’t seen any of those yet; where are they?”
“Most of them keep to specific sections of Halintratha,” Vindatri answered. “They are …relatively primitive, I suppose one could say, and I do not wish to confuse them overly much by encountering other species.”
“If they’re so primitive, what are they doing here—if we can ask?”
“I am trying to …guide their development, would be the best way to put it. I do not wish to force them on any path, but I do want to assist them past various difficulties they encounter, and I do so, partly on my own but more commonly through representatives I select and educate.”
“That’s nice of you!” Wu Kung said. “Helping without forcing, I like that.”
Ariane nodded, but inside she wasn’t so sure. If there was anything she’d learned in the Arena, it was that you had to pay close attention to the way people talked, and that they’d often try to hide one truth within another. Vindatri talked something like Orphan, and something like Amas-Garao, and both of those were people who used words like mazes. The not-good interpretation of that would be that Vindatri’s playing God, in a pretty literal sense. “So would these people be natives of the Sphere a short ways off?”
“Correct. That is one reason I remain here; observing the development of a civilization within the Arena itself is a rare opportunity. Perhaps I will be able to introduce you to one of these natives later.” Vindatri took a bite of the meat; Ariane thought she saw a flash of teeth, but they didn’t look as viciously sharp as those of Amas-Garao or other real carnivores. Omnivore like us, with differentiated teeth, maybe.
Vindatri’s tone also indicated that the subject of the mysterious other beings was closed, at least for now. Just as well; time to change the subject. “Earlier you said you knew the meaning of the words of that chant that I used during my Awakening. What do they mean?”
Vindatri’s quick glance at the others needed no translation. “Vindatri, I’m going to tell them anyway, so there’s no point in hiding. And I’m sure they’re interested.”
“Damn straight I’m interested. Heard a bunch of fragments of that language, or whatever it is, but no one ever translated it,” DuQuesne said. Orphan simply tapped his assent, and Wu Kung looked up from his food with interest.
“As you desire, then,” Vindatri said after a moment. “But you will also recall that I said that I understood them ‘in a sense.’ There are multiple interpretations of the words—among both the Shadeweavers and the Faith, as far as I know, and I have my own various interpretations. All of them, understand, convey the same very basic meaning, but the nuances of that meaning carry extremely variant implications.”
“How so?”
Vindatri gave his shadowy smile again. “‘Oh, Masters of All, grant to this one ascendance to the Brotherhood, that I might see and shape the world as one of the Blood of Creation,’” he said. “That is one translation of the first portion of the ritual. However, so is ‘Arena System, grant me access privileges to both read and edit Arena operations as one of the Shadeweavers’—or ‘as one of the Faith,’ I would presume. There are …many other variations.”
“So even the invocations don’t really tell us whether the Faith or the Shadeweavers are right about the Arena.”
“Amusing, is it not? I have no doubt that the Arena itself could tell us the precisely correct translation, but it refuses to. There is, unfortunately, too little of that language actually known to allow for accurate translations. And I should correct you—not all of the Shadeweavers are the cynical materialists that it appears your acquaintance Amas-Garao is. Some believe fervently that they are accessing secret magics from the dawn of time, just as certainly as those who believe the Arena and these powers nothing more than the actions of a complex, but ultimately controllable, machine.”
Another flash of that half-visible smile. “Such an attitude is much rarer in the Initiate Guides, and would not likely ever be verbalized, but there are a few Guides whose private thoughts would likely reveal a much more mundane attitude towards their powers than the First Guide would like.”
“I guess we’ll just have to keep looking until we hunt down one of these Voidbuilders and get to ask them, then,” DuQuesne said.
Vindatri studied DuQuesne intensely for a moment, then nodded very slowly. “Yes. That may well be the only way to resolve the issue.”
“Well,” Ariane said, “at least that relieves me of the worry of whether I really need to join some cult in order to wield the power. How will this instruction go?”
“We will have to work together for some time,” Vidnatri answered, “although as I mentioned, your surprising ability to begin to control the power already may reduce that time. I must teach you the basic symbols and words, and evaluate your ability to keep them focused and visualized in your mind during other activities. Whether performed by supernatural forces or by a machine with immense capabilities, the powers rely on a clear, focused mind which is not only verbally, but mentally, articulating their focus and desire.”
“So will she be able to do stuff like you, or like Amas-Garao, or more like Nyanthus of the Faith?” asked Wu Kung.
“Yes and no would be the most appropriate answer,” Vindatri said, and his voice held a smile as well. “Each of us is unique in our own way. Whether Shadeweaver or Faith, those known to us each have developed their own skills, their own spells, if you like, their own unique signature and approach. There are, of course, techniques and particular …spells, rituals, call them what you will—that I will be teaching your Captain. But which ones she can best master, and how she will ultimately express them? That even I can only guess.”
A personal magic …or power, anyway. Ariane briefly wondered what hers would be like, then dismissed the thought. I’ll find out soon enough, I guess. “How long did it take you to master these powers when you first got them?”
Vindatri did not answer at first, sitting utterly immobile at the head of the table, and the silence became tense. She saw Orphan’s wingcases contracting, and Wu Kung subtly shifting in his chair in a way that would make it much easier for him to leap into action. Did I cross a line? It is something that’ll touch on his origin, but still it’s a natural question…